inside outline

If you know anything about me, you know that I love me, my Michael Ironside. His grizzly voice, and crazed temperment, coupled with a pair of of eyebrows that could beat up your mom, and rape your dad. He’s been in some pretty amazing movies, from Total Recall to Spacehunter: Adventures in the Forbidden Zone. But his most noteworthy role is Darryl Revok in David Cronenberg’s Scanners. . He plays a telekenetic psychopath set on turning the world into scanner army. There are other scanners, but Revok is the most feared. Within the first 10 minutes of the film you see his first victim, and analyst whose head explodes in probably the most unexpected special effects in the history of ever.
michael ironside has a funny way of making you feel dirty. Theres a psychodic slime to all of his performances, but this one especially. In his office, dressed like the business end of a ferrari dealership, he makes his brother’s eyes boil out of their sockets. and as veins are popping out of his head, and his pupils disappear…. well i don’t want to ruin it for you.

When I was five I was obsessed with the Highlander. I had a stick that I’d pretend was a katana, and I’d hit my friends in the neck with it, making a sloshing sound with my mouth to emulate decapitation. I continue loving the Highlander but my allegiance has shifted from the Frenchy Scotsman to the Kurgan. As far as bad guys go, The Kurgan is probably the most metal. His helmut is crafted from dragon skull, and his swords has two tiny swords that pop out the side. His hoarse throat, caused by Sean Connery slicing him across the neck, and stitched poorly with modeling wire, and lends itself to some of the coolest lines.
“Tonight you sleep in hell.”
“I have something to say, Its better to burn in hell, than fade away!’
“I took his head and raped his woman before his blood was even cold.”
The thing that I really love about The Kurgan, is his evolution. In the 15th century, he was a crazed barbarian warrior, and in the eighties he looked like a member of the misfits. I love the idea that punks would be barbarians in another time, even though there was probably coffee jobs back then too. Where most people over 600 years old would be complaining about the sound, and anarchic message, this time was the Kurgan. He does die in the end, but he smiles as his head slowly peals back. enjoying every popped stitch.

Last Friday I saw The Dark Knight, and it blew me away. Like everyone else in the entire world, I was captivated by Heath Ledgers portrayal of the joker, and I can’t stop thinking about it. His take on the Joker is so atypical. Nihilism isn’t an easy thing to pull off as a motive, but you believe him. Probably because he’s so dirty. you take people more seriously when they’re dirty in a clean suit.
So this got me thinking even more about all the characters way too good at being bad. Characters that you want to be, even if that is a one way ticket to heck. If you know me, you know i watch tons of aweful movies, so get your Netflix ready, because its time for my top 10 movie villians(in no particular order).

The best, and worst thing about the beach season, is the best and worst beach bodies issue of The National Inquirer. Every year I find my self in the same perdicament at my local grocer’s checkout counter. Looking around i spot someone like Pheobe Katz in bikini way too small, and a gut waterfalling over the brim of her bottoms. Now I’m no bathing beauty, not anywhere close, but I do get a sick enjoyment seeing an aging Michael Flatley in a speedo, looking more like a prince of porkchop then a lord of dance.

It makes me sad that I support such behavior. The beach comes with such a stigma, and I hate that these magazines villianize the portly. No one should have to endure scrutiny over their body, unless they have really racist, non-hilarious, tattoos. That being said, there are a lot of people sporting bathing suits that might be too small for their mass. I wish those bathing suits were still popular that mustached musclemen wore in the early twentieth century. they were pretty fashionable in a way, but i’m sure they left a monsterous tan line.

I guess people like these issues because you see that celebrities are just regular people too. But theres rarely any suprise. I don’t need a photo to show that Queen Latifa is packin’ much back. I knew that, and I love that, and I wish they would have gotten a hotter angle of it, cause that belongs in the hot celebrity section. Don’t show me Brian Dennehy, and tell me that an orca has beached, we know he’s fat, and we love him for it. same thing goes for Carl Winslow and Fred Mertz from I Love Lucy. And the hot celebrities aren’t even that hot. sure they’re boobs are where they should be, and there abs are not hidden under years of carbs. so what? You can’t stop a cannonball with your abs. Try it. Doesn’t work. What i see is people going to the beach to get photographed, and the poor people that want to spend some time with they’re family get caught in the crossfire. Poor Hollywood heavyweight, Dustin Hoffman, sporting a belly-flap look. He never saw it coming.

In Oakland I had a lot of people cutting my hair. I can’t remember paying more than a pack of cigarettes to trade for services rendered. I got some pretty good haircuts from my friend Kara Joslyn, she’d spend 4 hours on it every cut, which was nice for a free haircut, but tedious when you’re trying not to fall asleep while she’s trimming around your ears. After that, my friend Monica Canilao (pictured above) cut my hair for website services. I think she was the best because she’d bake me tator tots for after the haircut. She had this pair of old fabric scissors that she’d drag across my head. The pain was intoxicating. The sound of hair ripping gave me chills, and I can’t get a razor cut anymore without asking if they might have a duller blade somewhere.

When I moved to New York, I was shocked that no one was offering me haircuts for cigarettes. With New York cigarette prices, I can’t say it’d be much of a deal. So I went to this place that a friend was working at, his name was Brian, and I’m not going to say where, but he raped my head with his sleazy scissors, and charged me 190 dollars for a bowl cut and a salon phobia. I eventually found some guy named Wesley at Kropps and Bobbers, and he did an amazing job, but at 90 dollars, it was no steal.

Now back in Los Angeles, I dreaded finding a place to get my hair chopped. I’ve been going to Rudy’s on Sunset, for a 24 dollar haircut that looks like it cost me 40, or the Vidal Sassoon school, which i’m still a little scared of. And though I’m happy with the reasonable priced chops here, I’m still sad that the barter barber scene doesn’t extend much outside of Oakland. I got a haircut in Portland once, and they gave me a free pabst while I got my hair snipped. Its those little gestures that make an experience. So if anyone in Los Angeles wants take a crack at my head, I’m ready and willing. And if you want some money, make sure you have some tator tots and a PBR waiting for me.

I love Spam. Its not an ironic, fetishistic infatuation. Its a true appreciation for the meat; its resourceful flavor, and its indestructible enclosure. Its not because I’m asian, and I loves things that come with right angles, encased in steel. Its not the novelty of canned luncheon meats or the cult status that it somehow achieved. And I’m just tired of defending Spam to people that will never let themselves experience the wonder meat.

What bothers me is that so many people are fine with hot dogs, probably the most processed meat product ever created. Hot dogs are made with the real scraps, blended in a vat the size of a grain silo, encased in synthetic wrapping, then painted orange. Spam has always gotten the short end of the culinary stick. What people don’t realize that Spam is a simple blend of ham, pork shoulder and pepper. There’s no ears or anus, that goes to the hot dog plant. Spam does not stand for “snouts, penis, and misc…”, its a simply abbreviation for “spiced ham”.

I know I’m being defensive unprovoked, but I just wanted to tell you about my friend, that happens to have a bad reputation. If you’d like to read more in defense of SPAM, read this hillarious essay, and look for Paul Theroux’s theory of the pacific islanders fascination with said meat. And if you get curious, try some of these recipes. If you don’t trust me, trust the experts.

When I was seventeen, I realized that if I ever got thrown into a gun fight, I’d die within the first 15 seconds. I wouldn’t be the hot shot cop, I wouldn’t even be his partner that goes out in a blaze of glory. I would be the busboy that was in the wrong place at the wrong time. If I ever get into a gun fight, I hope its on boat dock. Diving into the water is usually your best bet as a bystander. As long as I can hold my breathe long enough, I should be fine. Maybe a helpful dolphin will help me back to shore. But knowing my luck, I’ll probably catch a cold or die of hypothermia; probably both.

Sometime in the last few years, I’ve started obsessing about pig hunting. I’ve fallen in love with the idea of taking down a wild pig with my bare hands, gutting it with a knife and cooking it over an open fire. I’ve never been into hunting and/or gathering, but I’ve come to respect the pork so much, that I feel I must fully experience the process from start to finish. To actively engage the process, to better appreciate what I already love so much.

There is a prejudice against pork that I’ve never understood. Certain cultures don’t eat pork because of outdated dogma, set into place because of sanitary conditions of the time. They say that modern pig raising processes have created a very clean and lean meat, that no long resembles pork of previous centuries. Chickens are ceseptable to all the same diseases, yet somehow escaped such culinary persecution. The Chinese have always considered the pig the most noble of all beasts. They are loyal, smart, and above all, delicious. I dare anybody to befriend a pig, and not come out of it with some respect for the species. There is a misunderstanding with pigs, that since they don’t sweat they’re meat is tainted; that its filthy. But no one seems to realize that pigs, a very emotional animal, cry themselves to sleep most nights, releasing any excess salt that would spoil they’re delicious flesh.

I know its not going to change. It just makes me so angry when people relegate pork as a secondary meat. We’re the secondary meat, and we should bow down to such savory gods. So I’m getting to get ready, I’ve polished my brass knuckles, and tightened my belt. And if you want, you’re more than welcome to join me.

Its not often that I love something more than myself, but there are a few exceptions. Speed Racer is one major exception. When I was a little kid, they used to play it after Beavis and Butthead, and I instantly fell in love. But staying in love has been an incredibly hard task, because Speed Racer, though the best show ever, is the worst franchise of all time.

To be a Speed Racer fan, you have to have a good understanding of kitsch. This is why recreating the magic is so hard. Kitsch is something that you can’t try to create, it has to happen naturally. Every itteration of the show, besides the original, has been so heavy handed or completely aweful.

Around the time I got into Speed Racer, The New Adventures of Speed Racer debuted. It was the first American attempt to capture the magic. It was so stupid, it only lasted thirteen stupid episodes. A race car driver, and dimensional time traveler, Speed Racer and his Mach 5 battled against mutant aliens, for the safety of earth. Even as a 9 year old kid, I knew this was the worst cartoon I’d ever seen. Its angry jingle metal theme song, embarrassed me, yet didn’t stop me from watching the cartoon every sunday morning.

Along time passed, and I heard rumors of a reprisal. A Japaneses version of the show, and a new hope for Speed Racer bliss. This animation studio, took the Digimon approach,using computer drawn characters with really thin lines. The show had very little to do with racing, most storylines focusing on Speed’s high school life. The racing that did take place looked like it was lifted out of Tron. This series never made it to the states, and was incredibly hard to find when it came out. But that didn’t stop me, unfortunately.

Now in 2008, theres a new Speed Racer push. A new movie and a new cartoon series. And if you didn’t already know, they’re both art directed vomit. I’ve come to terms with the situation, and I’ve learned a few things. Speed Racer is deceptively simple. People that love speed racer, really love speed racer. But if you truely love Speed Racer, leave it alone. Please.

For some odd reason, AMC has been playing alot more Death Wish these days. 5 years after Charles Bronson’s death, theres really no reason for this sudden interest in the series. Especially since 3 out of the 5 are too terrible to watch.
But Charles Bronson still stands as my favorite face in cinema. When I heard that Sylvester Stallone wanted to reprise the role as the gun wielding vigilante, it made me sad. Charles Bronson was the ugly uncle we all had. Vaguely Asian/ Mexican looking; He taught us, you fuck with me= you die. Uncle Bronson wasn’t Rambo, he was some schmuck with a big gun. Kinda short, and super creepy, if Uncle Bronson took you out to the park, he would not play with you, just stare at you from 600 feet away. But if you got into a sticky situation, you could always count on Uncle Bronson’s aim.
So when you see the trailer to the upcoming Death Wish remake, don’t forget where it all started: at the cold end of a great man’s gun.